


O is for [Good] Omens

by vipjuly



Series: ZYX's [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Dancer Dean Winchester, Drag Queens, M/M, Meet-Cute, Power Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Professor Castiel (Supernatural), Semi-Public Sex, Top Dean Winchester, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Castiel is gifted a coupon, good for four (4) visits to a local charity car wash, organized by one (1) gay club owner, Dean Winchester.Amidst all the freakishly bad luck, Castiel manages to get lucky.





	O is for [Good] Omens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unisaursarethebest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unisaursarethebest/gifts).

> a request, filled.  
unedited.

It could, perhaps, be an act of God when an entire flock of birds passes over Castiel’s car as soon as he gets inside, the World War III of their poop barraging Castiel’s classic Lincoln Continental sounding so thunderous Castiel ducks in on himself and covers his head, as though the missiles are going to break through the roof of his car and drench him. When he peeks out from his arms he’s completely dismayed (and grossed out) to discover that he can’t see out of a single window. Groaning in disgust, Castiel covers his face with his hand and slumps down in his seat a little, trying to get a grip. 

Today has been disastrous, from beginning to end.

It’s his first year as a university professor (Classic Literature) and he’d been, of all things, _late_ to his first day. During the night his cat (Alfie) had gotten rowdy while Castiel had been passed out and in his playing managed to unplug his phone, causing it to die, and subsequently rendering Castiel’s alarm disabled. When he’d awoken to the little devil chewing on his toes and stumbled into the kitchen to see **9:03** in bright, red, accusing numbers on his stove, he’d been startled into action. Getting ready had been a mess, saved only by the fact he’d set out his clothes the night before. But his socks got mismatched, he’d knotted his tie backwards, and when he’d blown into his classroom with his hair sticking up in every direction, he had been sure his students would have already left. Ten minute rule, and all that. But there they had been, waiting patiently, curious and clearly delighted at the whirlwind Castiel had brought in with him. 

His lectures and teaching had gone fine after that, thankfully, until he at lunch time he realized he’d forgotten to grab his neatly packed meal prep tupperware from the fridge at home. The situation had only been made worse when he patted himself down and realized he didn’t have his wallet. He at least had his phone, so he texted his days’ torture to his best friend Charlie, who had basically saved his life when she showed up twenty minutes later with a sandwich and coffee from the cafe next to her floral shop. They chatted about nothing for a quarter of an hour, Castiel’s bad mood evaporating with her presence, and when she got up to leave she handed Castiel a coupon for a local car wash that supports the local LGBT youth, mentioning that she knows the man organizing it. 

Currently, without Charlie and with more bird poop than he’s ever seen in his entire life, Castiel pulls the coupon out of his pocket to examine it. It’s a punch card - _$40 VALUE_ written on the back - and Castiel smiles small thinking about Charlie and how she’s always trying to help good causes around her. Sometimes Castiel happens to fall under that umbrella, and today, he’s thankful for the break.

Turning on his wipers and using the fluid is nasty, and he spends about a whole minute smearing the white and brown crap around until it finally breaks up and starts getting pushed off the sides of his windshield. Once he can safely see out his windshield he glances towards all of the other windows and decides he’s too grossed out to try and wipe them down, so he looks up the address printed on the ticket and, discovering it’s less than five minutes away, decides to drive there at a snail’s pace. At least there’s not a lot of traffic at this time of day, so only one impatient person manages to honk angrily at him.

Turning into the parking lot of a night club Castiel has never even heard of, he sees all sorts of people milling about, eating, drinking, and washing other cars. The car washers are… 

… oh.

_RAINBOW CAR WASH_ is printed on a tie-dye easy-up, where a drag queen stands in the shade, handling a till and greeting everyone with a smile. Her wig is bright red, her dress is nearly completely rhinestones, and she’s the only one wearing what could be considered clothes. All of the employees are wearing variations of bathing suits and cut off shorts, cowboy boots or stilettos on their feet, and it doesn’t matter how wet the situation is, there is glitter… _everywhere_.

Of course, Castiel’s monstrosity gets noticed immediately. A blonde girl, wearing a flannel-turned-halter top and obscenely short shorts guides him to where he can park, and then gestures for him to get out of the car. Careful of any slopping poop that might try to get in his hair, Castiel gets out of his car and shuts the door quickly, grimacing when he sees the state of his car from the outside. 

“Well,” the girl says as she stands next to Castiel, hands on her hips as they both regard his car. “We’re gonna earn lunch today! Go ahead to the tent and redeem your coupon to Geraldine, she’ll get you set up.” 

Nodding, Castiel walks away from his car as inconspicuous as possible. Under the tent the drag queen, Geraldine, claps her hands and coos. Up close Castiel can see her hooked nose, contoured with makeup to look straight and narrow, her thin lips overlined in red, the shoulder and hip pads under her dress only doing a medium job of hiding her gangly, spindly body underneath.

“Welcome to Rainbow Car Wash!” Geraldine greets. “I’m Geraldine. Let’s take a looky-loo at your coupon and see what kinda deal we can getcha!”

Castiel hands over the paper, fascinated. As a gay man he’s not new to the scene, but since moving to this town last month to teach at the university, he’s been too busy to do anything other than prepare his lectures and try to make his house feel lived in instead of stale. The drag queen in front of him doesn’t look anything like the drag queens from the bigger city Castiel had moved from; they all were glamorous outside of drag, had a natural grace. Geraldine almost looks like a straight man dressing up for hoots and hollers. Maybe he is. Castiel won’t judge, though, because it’s quite obvious that Geraldine put quite a bit of time and effort into her look today. 

“Oh! A forty dollar ticket! We’ve only sold a few of these,” Geraldine says. She picks up a hole punch, clipping one star-shaped hole into the edge of the ticket. “You can redeem up to four car washes with this ticket.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, accepting the ticket when it’s handed to him. He turns around to see the blonde girl working a pressure washer to get the majority of the crap off of his car, and then turns back towards Geraldine with a curious squint. “Is this… part of the night club?”

“You don’t know?” Geraldine says, smiling wide. She shines as bright as the sun. “Rainbow Night Club is getting ready to open its doors in a month, but before we do that, boss man wanted to throw a charity event to support the local LGBT center. Employees from the club are working this car wash to spread the news that we aren’t devil worshipping sadists.”

Nodding slowly, Castiel can’t help but let a small smile quirk his lips. “That’s very kind of the owner.”

“All proceeds from this car wash are going to the center,” Geraldine continues. “Dean’s got more than enough money to open the club and make sure it’s a hit. All he wants to do right now is give back to the community.”

Geraldine speaks with a bit of hero worship, but Castiel can’t really blame her. This Dean sounds like quite an upstanding citizen. As far as Castiel knows, Rainbow will be the first gay night club in this town. Not that the town is super conservatie - the university knows Castiel is gay and barely blinked - but an event like this is quite monumental. 

“Anyway,” Geraldine gestures to the easy-up pitched behind the one they’re standing under. “There’s lemonade and cookies if ya want ‘em! Couple chairs to sit down in, too. Shouldn’t be too long before we get you all taken care of!”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. He makes his way to the other tent and grabs a paper cup, reading _100% Biodegradable in 10 days!_ on the side, smiling to himself and shaking his head as he pours himself some lemonade. LGBTQ+, eco-friendly. What an interesting operation. Turning around, he decides to forgo sitting, instead curious as to how his colossal mess is being taken care of. He feels bad, bringing it to a hand-wash, but without his wallet and with that coupon in hand, this had been the only option. The blonde girl had managed to get all of the poop off with the pressure washer and now she and a young man were working on sudsing up the car, laughing and joking with one another as they work. 

There’s only one other car being washed, but the owner seems to be standing nearby, chatting with an employee who looks more like a lumberjack than anything, burly with a beard and a cap, his cut-off shorts at his knees and his flannel open, sleeves rolled up. As far as Castiel can tell, flannel and denim seems to be the unofficial uniform. 

Sipping quietly on his lemonade, hand in the pocket of his khakis, Castiel is thankful for the shade and the cool beverage. His eyes wander curiously, and he’s thankful to know a nightclub is running this event, because that means none of the employees flitting around in next to nothing are under twenty-one. He’s not perving, but he’s definitely appreciative of all of the attractive people working. 

Some cheers and whistles catch his attention, his eyes being drawn towards the night club entrance where a man is stepping out of the building and into the autumn sunshine. And oh, _what a man_. He’s tall, thick, and absolutely working the uniform. His daisy dukes look like they’ve been ripped and shredded with a box cutter, the hem of them obscene. It could possibly be frayed denim bikini bottoms. Among the cheers and whistles he hams it up, walking gracefully and elegantly in his cowboy boots, spinning on heel, showing a flash of his perky buttcheeks as he treats the parking lot like his own personal runway. The flannel he’s wearing is unbuttoned and tied across his chest, the sleeves ripped off to show off his finely shaped arms; it’s white, and like a scene out of a cheesy 90’s romcom, someone sprays him with a hose as he walks, and Castiel is pretty positive that things are suddenly going in slow-mo. His flannel immediately goes see-through, his laughter music to Castiel’s ears as he shakes out his hair, which had gone from sandy to dark with the soak. He continues to walk, his hips exaggeratingly swinging, every single person on the parking lot distracted and enthralled by the performance. 

The blonde girl who had been working on Castiel’s car approaches him as he struts, leaning up to say something in his ear. The man’s eyes go towards Castiel’s car, then they follow the girl’s finger to where she’s pointing to Castiel, who is currently clenching his lemonade cup so hard it’s crinkling slightly in his grip. The _smile_ the man sends Castiel is Hollywood-worthy, the wink that follows pornstar-worthy, and is this a car wash, or a broadway musical?, because stagehands are putting down a bucket of sudsy water next to the Lincoln, handing Dean a sham-pouf, and it’s like Castiel can’t look anywhere else. 

His car is, by now, completely free of bird poop, and has already been sudsed once. The man climbs onto the hood of the car, cat-like and pornographic, spine dipped and ass perky as he climbs across the metal lithely. One hand braces, the other hand uses the pouf to wash, and the man’s gaze breaks from Castiel’s stunned one so he can focus on what he’s doing.

“Ooooh,” Geraldine titters. “You’re so lucky Dean’s showed up!”

Dean.

The owner of the nightclub, because of course he is.

Transfixed, Castiel watches Dean work his way over the car. He washes the windshield, scrubs the hood, but most of it is just for show, because Castiel can already see the rest of it gleaming in the afternoon sun. Dean’s body twists, turns, writhes; he’s _flexible_, splitting his legs and giving a bounce that snaps the hood of Castiel’s car loudly and causes similar whiplash in his groin. There’s some sort of club music booming in the distance but Castiel’s head is fuzzy, unable to see or hear anything other than Dean making love to his car. The car is parked at an angle, which means that when Dean rolls over onto his back and spreads out on the hood, back against the windshield, Castiel has the perfect view. 

He clenches his cup so hard it completely crushes in his fist, lemonade spilling over his knuckles and dripping down to the pavement. 

God bless the employees, because a few of them grab a few hoses to start spraying the soap off of the Lincoln and, subsequently, soak Dean in the process. Loving the attention and the addition and the way people are catcalling and whistling - Castiel even sees a few cars pull into the parking lot to get in line, and wow, what an advertisement - Dean gets on his knees and throws his head back, an improvisational _Flashdance_, his body covered in soap suds. There are people now exiting their cars and crowding Geraldine to redeem their coupons, people even asking to pay cash, but Castiel pays them no mind.

He only has eyes for Dean, who continues to slither around on his car, bowed legs splitting and cowboy booted toes pointing, and he must be a professional dancer of sorts because he’s so _graceful_ (and bendy, and sinuous--) as he moves, fully in control of his body. The music crescendos, Dean stands on the roof of the car, and then there’s an explosion that causes everyone to screaming excitement.

Glitter replaces the water. 

Glitter cannons.

They shot glitter cannons at Dean, and have subsequently covered Castiel’s jubilee gold 1978 Lincoln Continental Mark V in scores of rainbow glitter.

The music stops. 

Dean stands atop Castiel’s car, covered in glitter, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands on his hips, chest heaving as his face splits in a delighted smile.

Everyone loses it.

As the crowd roars Dean transforms from confident to shy, ducking his gaze and carefully getting off of Castiel’s car. As he walks away from it the blonde girl comes back with the pressure washer to remove the glitter, which Castiel is thankful for, and it takes Castiel a moment to realize that Dean is walking directly towards him.

“Hey,” Dean greets, his voice whiskey thick and his green eyes boyish and bright. He sticks out his hand, “Dean Winchester. Hope you didn’t mind the performance, but we gotta pull people in off the street somehow.”

Dumbly, Castiel shakes Dean’s hand, and belatedly realizes that his other hand is still holding the cup he destroyed. Clearing his throat and tossing the cup into a nearby garbage can, Castiel’s eyes don’t know where to look-- Dean’s eyes? His perfect smile? The way the shirt is clinging to his skin, his nipples hard and perfectly visible? The freckles that are nearly hidden by the speckles of glitter? Because he’s Castiel his eyes end up dropping to where his hand is connected with Dean’s, slightly larger than the other man’s, but nearly crushed in his strong grip. “Castiel. Your performance was… performative.”

… Oh, Christ.

Dean’s eyebrows bounce in amusement as he pulls his hand away, head tilting to the side a bit. “Thanks?” 

“I mean-” Castiel tries to correct his idiocy. “It was very good. Do you perform at the club?” 

Dean’s smile softens a bit. “Nah. Used to perform but I’ve retired from that life so I can run the business instead.”

“Pity,” Castiel says before he can stop himself.

Dean’s beautiful eyes twinkle when he says, “I can be convinced to show off a few moves.”

Feeling his throat go dry, Castiel coughs a rattly cough into his hand, turning his head to the side. 

“Anyway,” Dean must be immune to awkwardness, because he continues on like Castiel isn’t a complete heel, “sorry if you find glitter in any unsuspecting crevices. But you can always come back for a detail.” His eyes flash. “I’m pretty good at being very thorough on the inside.” Castiel’s jaw drops a little, eyes widening, and then it’s Dean’s turn to be flustered as he scrambles to say, “Fuck, uh, that was really forward, huh, aha-” 

“No- I mean yes, it was forward-” Castiel shakes his head, blurting out awkwardly, “I’m gay.”

“Oh,” Dean blinks in surprise, and a quiet moment passes where they just stare at each other, before Dean chuckles softly and lifts a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. “Thank God, or else this woulda been really awkward.” 

“Ha, ha,” Castiel laughs awkwardly.

“Anyway,” Dean’s smile radiates warmth and friendliness, still immune to Castiel’s… isms. “What kinda coupon did you get?”

“Four washes,” Castiel finally seems to be coming back to himself.

“Jo said your car was really fucked up when you pulled in,” Dean says, eyes glimmering playfully. “Called you Alfred Hitchcock.”

Castiel glowers. “It was a very unfortunate circumstance.”

“And yet _very_ fortunate that we were here to take care of you,” Dean says, clapping Castiel on the shoulder like he’s not wearing a see-through shirt and denim shorts that do absolutely nothing to hide his considerable bulge.

“Uh-huh,” Castiel says through a tense smile.

“Well, we’ll see ya ‘round, Cas,” Dean says, squeezing his shoulder before turning around, heeding the calls of an employee guiding in cars.

Now that everyone is distracted by new customers Castiel makes a clean getaway into his car, starting it up and carefully navigating out of the makeshift car wash. Exhaling slowly, he wrings the steering wheel idly, trying to will the image of Dean humping his windshield out of his head, if only so he can concentrate.

He pulls down his visor to block the setting sun, and snorts when some glitter tumbles down.

Three holes left to punch on his coupon.

\--

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” Dean jokes as Castiel gets out of his car. 

Castiel steps directly into a puddle but finds himself all sorts of distracted, barely noticing the water soaking into his argyle socks. Firstly, it’s been three days since he first went to the Rainbow Car Wash, three days that Castiel isn’t really sure actually happened at all. His classes are going unnaturally well, students welcoming and warm and - dare he think - actually _liking_ him and his stupid jokes and his weird outfits that, in his mind are quite lovely, but has caught a few strange looks from other staff. Apparently mixing prints and patterns is a ‘fashion faux pas’, but he likes the way they set each other off. Anyway, not only do his students like him, and not only has the staff been friendly and accomodating, Castiel caught a break on his mortgage because his realtor accidentally fudged up some numbers. Alfie has been suspiciously well-behaved, he hasn’t burnt anything on the stove, and he hasn’t been late to anything since that first ill-fated day. 

Dean’s voice comes through Castiel’s jumbled thoughts, “Jesus, man, do you rally on the weekends?” 

Castiel snaps out of it. He turns to shut his door, watching caked mud break off where it’s dried near the handle, crumbling down to the ground in a dusty heap. The rest of his car isn’t so fortunate. Covered from bumper to bumper in mud, hay, and a few stalks of corn, Castiel considers his luck, again, when he notes that his tires all look good and it doesn’t appear that there are any dents in the body. Scratches he can handle. Auto repairs he cannot. Again, he’d washed _just_ enough of his windshield to see through so he could navigate it to Rainbow; he lifts his arm and sniffs his sleeve, nose wrinkling at the distinct smell of… cow.

“There was a herd,” Castiel finally says, still staring at his car. “Out of nowhere. I swerved. I think I might owe a farmer some money.” 

Dean laughs, full-bodied and hearty, his hand clapping Castiel’s shoulder in his mirth. “We’ll get you taken care of.”

Castiel is once again directed to Geraldine, where she punches his card enthusiastically, starting to ramble about how business has been fairly steady, but not quite like the last time Castiel had been here. Of course, Castiel knows it’s because Dean probably didn’t _Flashdance_ for everyone to draw in the customers, but now that he’s here today, he does find himself antsy to see if Dean will perform. Jo, the cute blonde girl from last time, appears with the pressure washer, hosing down Castiel’s car like a fireman in a burning house. Everyone is still wearing the flannel/denim short combo, today Dean’s hem actually reaching mid-thigh, to Castiel’s disappointment. His blue flannel is unbuttoned and the sleeves are ripped off, and it’s not near as racy as the other day’s outfit, but it still quickens Castiel’s pulse anyway. 

As soon as Jo’s done spraying down the Lincoln, someone else coming to clear away the cornstalks and general debris, Dean gets handed a bucket of soapy water and a sponge-pouf. He carries on like it’s no big deal, like he’s not every one of Castiel’s wet dreams wrapped into one (ahem) package, but today there’s no dramatics or performing as he scrubs the car down. Castiel forgoes the lemonade, even though it would be quite refreshing for his suddenly dry throat, not wanting to risk spilling it like he did the other day. He knows better than to think he’s safe with this G-rated scrub down. 

Not five minutes later, he’s proved himself right.

Dean bends down to wash the lower part of the car along with the rims of the tires, the damp denim stretching over the curve of his ass deliciously. The hem is to mid-thigh but when he bends the denim cuts into his fleshy thighs and reveals quite the pantyline. Castiel licks his lips and can’t help but watch, ready to say he’s concerned about his filthy car if he’s caught, but knowing full well it’ll be obvious what he’s looking at. There’s some soap dripping down Dean’s bowed legs, sliding down to where his cowboy boots gap away from his calves. He cleans the car like it’s his own, thoroughly, and he might not be throwing an obvious performance, but when he tosses a grin over his shoulder towards where Castiel is gawking, Castiel learns A) Dean knows exactly what he’s doing, and B) Dean knows exactly what Castiel is doing. And there doesn’t seem to be a problem, so Castiel meets his gaze with a cool smile, folding his arms loosely over his chest. 

There’s music playing today, more dancey, bassy tunes to make the employees ‘shake it’ while they work. Dean’s no different, wiggling along, shimmying his shoulders at Jo and another employee, laughing when they pretend to gag. Dean’s youthful and energetic, but Castiel had seen the faint lines around his eyes, putting him somewhere near Castiel’s modest forty years of age. He imagines that leading a lifestyle such a dancer-slash-club owner keeps one young. And, again, he’s not got one complaint about Dean, none whatsoever, as Dean catches his eye again over his shoulder as he squats to get the sponge-pouf into the details of the rims. 

Hot under the collar, Castiel reaches up to loosen his tie slightly and unbutton the first few buttons of his shirt. He takes off his blazer, drapes it over his elbow, but doesn’t take his gaze off of Dean as he slithers around the car. Castiel does another discrete sniff test of himself and is thankful to note that the smell is coming from the left sleeve of his blazer, the arm he’d use to shoulder his door open because it’d been caked in mud and… pies. He’ll come out of this relatively unscathed. The eye candy helps.

Of course, the peace doesn’t last long. Someone grabs a regular hose and sprays Jo with it, who gives out a rather scary shriek before lobbing her soapy sponge at them. There’s a breathless pause for a moment, as people assess the situation - and then like a seventh grade school cafeteria, chaos explodes. Soap, sponges, hoses - everyone starts chasing each other and horsing around, causing another attractive scene. Beautiful people dripping from head to toe in soap and water, clothes plastered to their skin, girls taking off their flannel to reveal plaid-print bikinis, boys taking off their shirts; Dean seems to be doing the most damage, commandeering a hose and a bottle of dawn, making a makeshift soap cannon as he sprays anyone and everyone that comes within ten feet of him.

Cars start lining up. 

Castiel smiles to himself, unbothered by the river of soapy water snaking past his shoes. 

Ten minutes later the chaos dies as people start herding cars and collecting payments, customers getting in line. Dean approaches Castiel with a smile and a towel draped around his freckled shoulders, having lost his flannel somewhere in the fray. Up close, and decidedly less distracted than last time, Castiel takes in his golden skin, perky nipples, and the very, _very_ subtle softness under his belly button, no trace of a happy trail in sight. The waistband of his denim shorts cuts into his hips ever so lightly, belying days when the shorts fit him like a glove. Castiel doesn’t know what Dean used to look like, but this curvy, stacked version of him suits his tastes quite nicely.

“Looks like you’re the star of our commercial again,” Dean says, green eyes twinkling.

“What kind of royalties do I get?” Castiel asks, digging deep under his libido to find his sass.

“Free drinks at the club when it opens,” Dean offers, in total seriousness, his smile small and genuine. 

“Oh,” Castiel is surprised. “I- that’s very kind, Dean, but…” his gaze slides towards the building, which already looks all sorts of cool and inviting. 

“Not your scene?” Dean guesses. He doesn’t hide the way he looks Castiel up and down, eyes burning holes into Castiel’s clothes. “Gotta keep up your nerdy-hot professor image, huh.” 

Castiel can’t help the little chuckle that escapes him, “Actually, I am a professor. English Literature at the university.”

Dean’s eyebrows raise, eyes turning to Castiel’s. “No shit.” 

Nodding, Castiel shrugs slightly. “I just moved to town recently.”

“Well,” Dean reaches out to clap Castiel on the shoulder. Last time it’d been friendly, almost impersonal; this time, Dean’s fingers curl around his shoulder and give a long, slow squeeze, before releasing. “Welcome. You and your car.” Dean looks over at the Lincoln, which is getting rinsed one last time. “She’s mint.” 

Castiel finds himself smiling in a rare show of pride. “I’m quite fond of her. I’m no mechanic but I do what I can to keep her in good shape and take her to the shop regularly.” 

“Good on ya,” Dean declares, grinning at Castiel. “I’ve got a classic, too. Gotta treat ‘em right.”

“What’s yours?” Castiel asks, curious, and maybe slightly desperate to know more about this man.

“Sixty-seven Impala,” Dean gets a slightly dreamy look in his eyes. “The love of my life.”

Castiel snorts, “Good to know.”

Dean laughs, “Hey, no lady comes before her.” His smile turns slightly predatory as he regards Castiel, “Never said anything about a man.” 

“Ah,” Castiel replies, archly, stiffly, to cover up the way his adam’s apple nearly lodged itself in his nasal cavity. 

Grinning, Dean squeezes Castiel’s shoulder again. “We’ll see ya next time, bud.” He walks away to help with a new car.

Castiel loves watching him go.

\--

Castiel almost falls out of his car when he opens the door. Dean is standing there, amused smile on his features; today it’s those sinful denim shorts-slash-bikini bottoms and a Royals mesh jersey cut into a crop top. Castiel straightens and shakes out his hair, trying to dislodge the hay woven into the strands. 

“Your last name Murphy, by chance?” Dean asks, mirth twinkling in his eyes. 

Castiel brushes off the sleeves of his blue blazer, frowning as more hay falls off of him in an avalanche. “Last time I checked, no.” 

Dean gives him a helping hand, helping pat and dust the hay bits off of him. Well, surely it’s supposed to help, but now Castiel is just focusing on the fact that Dean’s hands are _on_ him, touching here, there, everywhere - he even reaches to boldly pat down Castiel’s butt, sending a playful smirk up at the flushed professor.

“There was a hay truck,” Castiel explains. “One of his straps broke and half of his load just…” he gestures uselessly at his car, which is covered in hay and dirt. “My window was down.”

“Damn,” Dean whistles. He laughs, “Well, bad luck is better than no luck, right?”

“Please direct me to someone who _actually_ believes that,” Castiel glowers. 

Dean chuckles and squeezes Castiel’s bicep. “We’ll get you taken care of, Cas. Go get some lemonade.”

Letting out a falsely aggrieved sigh, Castiel licks his lips before saying, as casually as possible, “I’d like to see how thorough you can be inside.”

Dean’s pupils dilate slightly, his grin wolfish as he replies, “You won’t be disappointed, Professor. I’ll get every… last… inch.” 

Castiel watches his ass - he snaps his gaze upwards. He watches Dean walk away, before turning to head to Geraldine to get his coupon punched and a cup of lemonade.

The car wash is a little busier today than it was last time. Castiel sips his lemonade and watches everyone work, trying once again to not be obvious about staring at Dean, but probably, once again, being obvious anyway. How anyone can look anywhere else is beyond him. In fact has Castiel ever looked at another man in his entire life? Not likely. All he sees is Dean.

The outside of his car isn’t difficult or disgusting today, which means Dean can pop open the doors sooner than later. He’s got Armor-All, a handheld vacuum, and a few other items in his arms as he sits in the passenger seat, applying impressive concentration to the task. Castiel watches him maneuver around the car, over the seats and against the windows, enjoying every time that pert ass raises up while he’s on his hands and knees to get some place difficult to reach. 

Fifteen minutes comes and goes too quickly. Before Castiel is ready Dean is already coming back to him, wiping his hands on a rag and sending Castiel a devastating smile. 

“There we go,” Dean says, “right as rain.” 

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “I hope it wasn’t too much of a chore today.”

“I never say no to hard work,” Dean replies easily, slinging the rag over his shoulder. His grin turns cocky. “I ain’t a show pony.”

“Good to know,” Castiel’s voice is about three octaves lower than he intended it to be, but seeing Dean’s pupils dilate and his lips part is well worth it.

“Well,” Dean clears his throat when Geraldine clears her throat. “How many punches ya got left?”

“Just one,” Castiel replies, trying not to sound disappointed. 

He needn’t worry, because a bit of disappointment flashes through Dean’s eyes as he says, “Damn.” 

He can’t help the wry smile that spreads over his lips, “Dean. You do realize we could see each other outside of the car wash, right?” 

“Mmm but then how am I gonna reel you in?” Dean asks, reaching out to tug at Castiel’s tie playfully, eyes glimmering. 

“I’m sure you won’t find it difficult,” Castiel admits, delighting in the thrill that runs down his spine when Dean tugs on his tie again. 

“If you say so,” Dean says, finally dropping Castiel’s tie. “I’d hate to be strangers with you.”

Exchanging phone numbers is quick and easy, and then Castiel is saying goodbye to Geraldine, Jo, and Kevin, his gaze lingering on Dean as he opens the driver door of his car and is assaulted by a beautifully clean scent. It’s definitely a pity Castiel doesn’t have a change of clothes, but he thinks he’s been dusted off enough to not cause too much damage as he sits down and buckles up, starting his car. 

He’s only got one more punch left, but he got Dean’s number, so surely that’s a change of pace in this streak of bad luck.

\--

Castiel Novak is a God damn jinx. 

The very next day, during class, students had vandalized his car. Not the bad kind- no, the _worst_ kind. With streamers, spray foam, liquid chalk, and glitter. Castiel had taken up position as the new LGBT club coordinator and, while his reception had been warm in the club room that morning, he surely hadn’t been prepared for the rainbow welcome. In the class he’d seen Jo and Kevin and had been warmed at the fact he’d be seeing them more, and honestly he’d rather die before admitting that Dean’s good heart had inspired him to take up more of a residence in the queer community, and quite frankly he should have known that they’d be up to something.

His fingers slip through pink foam as he tries to open the door of his car. Huffing in annoyance, he bends to get into his car just in time for some purple foam to slop onto his head and spill over his shoulders. When he slams his door, green foam explodes into his face, hidden in the crease of the frame. Counting back from twenty, Castiel starts his car and pulls out of the parking lot, thankful that he can at least see out of his windshield today. It’s Friday and the car wash is packed, Castiel actually having to get in line today, which is both amusing and annoying. This is a temporary car wash, a fundraiser meant to last only a short time, but Castiel knows he’s not the only one who will be missing it when it’s gone.

Geraldine is wandering between the cars, punching tickets as people wait, chatting and being generally friendly and lovely. Castiel cracks his window enough to slide the ticket out when she approaches, just in time to hear her hearty, unabashed laugh as she takes in the state of his car.

“Wowzers, Castiel! I gotta say, if we had an award for people with the strangest dirty car circumstances, you’d be in first place!” 

“Thank you,” Castiel says a bit stiffly. He takes the ticket back when it’s slid through the crack in his window, “How long is the wait?”

“If ya trust us you can leave your keys in the ignition and we’ll get ‘er taken care of,” Geraldine suggests. “‘Bout twenty minutes I think.”

“Please,” Castiel says, leaving his keys and opening the door. He tries to do it quick, so he doesn’t get slopped on again, but has no such (good) luck as he gets out of his car and subsequently gets blue foam dripping down his back. Groaning, he slams his door shut, glowering at his car. 

_HOT TODDY NOVAK_ is written across his back windshield.

Wonderful.

With a friendly bid from Geraldine Castiel makes his way over to the easy up. There are a few people milling about, drinking lemonade and chatting, and Castiel swiftly ignores them all as he starts stripping the moment he’s in the shade. Off goes his blazer so he can shake it this way and that, dislodging foam. Off goes his tie, which whips him directly in the face as he pulls it off, leaving a smear of pink foam over his brow and cheek. He won’t take off his pants in public, but he does take off his button-down, shrugging out of it. There’s a foldable steel chair nearby, which Castiel carefully drapes his clothing over, sighing. His skin is sticky. What the hell was in that foam?

A hush falls around him. Unsure as to the cause, Castiel glances up and looks around, trying to figure out what has everyone’s attention. After a thorough survey that comes up suspiciously blank, Castiel finally looks back to the other occupants of the tent and is… frankly, shocked, that they’re all staring at him. Specifically, his bare, tan chest, the hair swirling over his pecs not too thick and not too thin, his nipples hard from the air kissing them, the dipping vee of his pelvic bone, his belt having gone slightly slack from all his fidgeting, pants hanging low on his hips. A woman’s gaze skirts over his biceps, another woman’s gaze imprints over the curve of his shoulders, and Castiel feels a resulting flush creep up the back of his neck. 

“What’s the deal?” Dean’s voice comes from somewhere. “Everything ok?” 

Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s. Dean’s eyes meet Castiel’s chest. Castiel’s nipples twinge. Dean’s eyes go dark, his lips parting. A soccer mom clears her throat. It’s still quiet. 

“Dean,” Castiel says stupidly.

“Cas,” Dean says dumbly.

“Oh my God,” Jo yells in the background. “Just kiss already!”

Dean laughs while Castiel flushes from his hairline down to his chest. Dean reaches up to the frame of the easy up, pulling down what looks like a t-shirt as he approaches Castiel. “You look like a hot mess, man. What happened today?” 

Castiel takes the shirt from Dean, not even bothering to look at it before he pulls it over his head. “I understand that gay was once a term used to pin anyone who was excessively happy,” he says, his head popping through the neckhole finally. He struggles to pull the shirt down over his shoulders, “But I must say, this is the first queer community I have been a part of that is so… raucous.” 

“I noticed Jo’s handwriting on your car,” Dean says with a grin, eyeing the way Castiel struggles to get the shirt over the swell of his pecs. “She said you’re the new dude in the glee club.” 

“The glee club is separate from the LGBT club,” Castiel corrects Dean mildly. He frowns down at the shirt, which finally made it over his pecs, but rests just under the curve of them. “Dean, this is a crop top.” 

“Is it?” Dean replies just as mildly. Castiel looks up just in time to see him wipe the smile off of his features. He claps Castiel on the shoulder, “Just figured you’d wanna cover up a bit.”

Castiel tugs at the hem idly, shifting his gaze to all of the other people (moms) in the tent that are trying desperately to not stare at him. “I think I might prefer being shirtless.”

“Well, people gotta be able to think while you’re around,” Dean reasons, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “Your nipples are almost as perky as mine.”

Castiel drops his eyes to look at Dean’s outfit; his flannel shirt is tied into a crop top, he’s wearing shorts that aren’t as obscene as his denim bikini and not quite as modest as the longer-hemmed pair, and today… well, to be honest, Dean looks perhaps a bit more conservative, but no less attractive. He could probably wear a burlap sack and Castiel would still think him beautiful.

“Anyway, you look good,” Dean says, reaching to slip a finger between the tiny shirt and Castiel’s solar plexus. His skin burns hot against Castiel’s. He withdraws his finger and snaps the hem of the shirt, winking. “We’ll get you taken care of lickity-split. Have some lemonade, make small talk.” Castiel’s eyes narrow, causing Dean to whoop out a laugh. “Or just stand and skulk while everyone ogles you. Gotta tell ya though, it’s a lot easier to handle people staring when you engage with them.” 

Dean walks away.

Castiel watches.

Then Castiel sighs, turning towards the crowd of women. Some of them titter, some of them giggle and twist their hair, some of them do their best to not look at him at all. Castiel Novak does not do small talk.

“Do any of you have children attending the university?”

The women all nearly leap at him, asking what course he teaches, what extra curriculars he helps with, is he single, did he just move to town, is he settling in ok, by the way they all have plenty of single daughters and sons and some of the women themselves are divorced--

“Sorry ladies,” Dean’s voice saves him twenty minutes later. Dean’s arms encircle him from behind, their height difference allowing him to rest his chin over the curve of Castiel’s shoulder, their cheeks smushed together, stubble rasping pleasantly as the man stakes silent claim over Castiel. “I’m gonna need my man back so he can drive his freshly clean car back home.” 

Many women look disappointed and, to Castiel’s surprise, many of the women look even _hungrier_ with Dean’s possessive display. Castiel tries not to melt into his firm body, but his hands do rest over where Dean’s forearms are crossed around his bare midriff, a smile tugging at his lips and only his iron will screaming in the back of his head keeping him from turning so his lips can catch on Dean’s jaw. 

“Thank you,” Castiel says, for more than one reason as he turns in Dean’s embrace, allowing the man to walk them out of the tent, Dean backwards, Castiel doing his best to not let their legs get all tangled. They’re so _close_, literally wrapped up in each other, Dean’s smile brighter than the sun and the crystalline sprays of water arcing through the air as other cars get cleaned. 

“You shouldn’t thank me when I’m the one that threw you to the wolves,” Dean says, his voice low and playful and striking every chord in Castiel’s being. He looks suggestively at the flimsy crop top Castiel is wearing, then bounces green eyes back up to Castiel’s.

“I’m sure you could make it up to me,” Castiel says, boldness he wasn’t aware he possessed gripping him.

“Mmm,” Dean reaches out with his free hand, opening Castiel’s car door. He manhandles Castiel to sit sideways behind the wheel, spread knees hanging out the door, legs slightly akimbo as Dean leans over him, one hand on the headrest of the seat, the other hand planted on the cushion next to Castiel’s thigh as he utterly and devastatingly invades Castiel’s space, so he can whisper in his ear. “Tonight. Nine o’clock. I’ll send you my address.” He pulls away, sending a meaningful glance to Castiel’s borrowed shirt. “You can bring that back to me.”

And then Dean is gone, taking all of the air with him, leaving Castiel dazed and aroused. Blinking back into awareness, Castiel is vaguely aware of Kevin rapping on the passenger window to hand a plastic bag to Castiel, which contains his soiled clothes. Kevin’s got an apologetic smile on his face, probably for the vandalism, but Castiel offers him a small, stilted smile, which Kevin thankfully takes as forgiveness.

This time when Castiel drives away from the car wash, he allows giddiness to flow through him. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and when he checks it at a stoplight, he’s delighted to see Dean’s address on the screen.

\--

Dean lives in a single-family, quaint home, out in the suburbs. It’s only ten minutes from Castiel’s own home, which he finds almost suspiciously convenient. The front yard is lush and green despite Autumn killing the earth slowly, neatly trimmed and decorated with hedges and minimal flower beds. The driveway is big enough for two cars, same with the garage, and as Castiel walks up the pavers he is struck by how… normal, Dean’s house is. Definitely has curb appeal, and feels like a _home_, even from the outside, but… well, Castiel wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Dean answers the door two minutes after Castiel knocks. He greets Castiel with a smile and a slip of skin as he tightens the silk bathrobe over his body, Castiel’s brow bouncing up a bit, the crop top getting wringed in his grip. 

“Heya Cas,” Dean greets, like he doesn’t look like every gay teenage boy’s wet dream. He steps aside and opens the door wider. “Come on in.”

Castiel had changed into jeans and a worn sweater, casual weekend wear, but the way Dean’s gaze drops down his body gives him the impression that his wardrobe choices are appreciated. It’s no silk bathrobe, but Dean seems just as thankful for it.

“Your shirt,” Castiel says belatedly as he toes off his sneakers.

Dean takes it from his hand and tosses it somewhere over his shoulder. “Hot tub?” 

“Do you believe in small talk?” Castiel asks with wry amusement.

Dean flashes him a smile and grabs his wrist, fingers searing into Castiel’s skin as he leads him through the house. “Yeah, you’re just not good at it.”

“Touche,” Castiel chuckles. He catches glimpses of a lived-in living room, a hallway that leads probably to the bedroom and bathroom, a kitchen that is pristinely clean yet indicates it’s frequent use. Dean leads Castiel through it all with an iron grip, to the sliding patio doors that lead outside to the deck, where in the corner against the railing a nicely sized hot tub sits, burbling and humming. Consideringly, Castiel misses Dean’s warmth when he lets go of his hand to walk towards the hot tub. “I don’t have a bathing suit.” 

The swish of silk and the sound of it plopping to the deck are all Castiel hears before Dean says, “Neither do I.”

Swallowing around the dryness in his throat, Castiel watches as Dean climbs the steps to the hot tub, his back to the professor. He steps in, one leg at a time, and then turns around to face Castiel, clearly not shy of his half-hard cock, the steam billowing up around his body, flushing his skin, his freckles standing out like the constellations in the clear sky above them. 

Peeking around the yard, Castiel notes that Dean’s fenceline is ensconced with high shrubbery, perfectly encasing his backyard in full privacy. Not that anything less would deter Castiel from taking off his clothes, as he’s currently doing, folding them neatly and placing them on one of the chairs sitting underneath an umbrella attached to a table. Down to his boxers, Castiel watches as Dean sinks down into the bubbling water, floating backwards to the farthest ledge. Over his shoulder, against the deck railing, Castiel sees a familiar bottle of silicone-based lube. 

He pulls off his boxers quickly, absorbs Dean’s hum of approval, and then makes to enter the hot tub as well. It’s hot, almost too hot, but Dean’s arms are lifting, palms open and inviting, and Castiel sinks onto his lap without hesitation. Their lips crash at the same time Castiel’s arms wind around Dean’s shoulders and Dean’s hands plant on Castiel’s hips, anchoring them together, their mouths slick from steam and spit. Kissing Dean is unlike anything Castiel has ever experienced; it’s like a kaleidoscope for his entire nervous system. Colors bloom behind his closed lids, he can taste them, smell them, feel them. It’s all Dean. 

Dean’s hands move to Castiel’s ass, gripping the flesh and squeezing. Castiel lets out a low groan, breaking the kiss to nip along and across Dean’s jaw, huffing out breaths. It’s really hot. Physically. But he isn’t about to give it up and ask to move somewhere else, not when the heat is accompanying Dean’s touches and kisses to give him a sort of dizzy-high he’s never felt before. 

Dean isn’t assuming or aggressive in his touches. The way he feels up Castiel, gripping his sides, squeezing his ass, palming his thighs; he’s clearly allowing Castiel to decide who does what and what goes where, for which Castiel is thankful for. He loves fucking, loves driving into sweet heat and pinning his partner down until they’re crying, but sometimes, _sometimes_, he likes to be the one held down and screaming. 

Dean seems like the perfect candidate for that. 

“Finger me,” Castiel finally breathes into the shell of Dean’s ear, reveling in the full bodied shiver that wracks the man. “Open me up.” 

“Fuck yeah,” Dean breathes, dragging a finger down Castiel’s crack to press the pad against his hole. It clenches reflexively - it’s been quite some time since Castiel’s bottomed - but Dean massages it sweetly, almost lovingly, until Castiel’s body starts to relax and undulate. 

Everything feels electric. The steam from the hot tub is cloying and suffocating but it only manages to spur them on further. Unable to truly catch his breath, Castiel tosses his head back, spine arching, fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s beautiful shoulders, leaving red marks in the freckled skin as Dean’s forefinger sinks into his hole.

“Fuuuuuck,” Dean breathes out, stilling his finger for a moment before thrusting it shallowly. He starts biting and kissing at Castiel’s neck, hungry, insatiable. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.” 

Castiel knows. Assplay while masturbating isn’t really his cup of tea, mostly because when he does choose to bottom, he enjoys the stretch and burn that accompanies the prep. He grinds down on Dean’s finger, rocking his hips, some of the water in the hot tub being displaced with their movements. They’re flushed from head to toe, eyes bright, lips parted to gulp in breaths. Their eyes meet for a moment before Castiel slots their mouths together again, tasting Dean fully, swallowing his moans and curses as he adds a second finger. Castiel lets out an almost needy noise, _almost_, but Dean’s unsatisfied with that; he crooks his knuckles just so and then Castiel lets out a ragged moan, dropping his forehead onto Dean’s shoulder. 

There’s a bit of fumbling as Dean’s hands remove themselves from Castiel’s body. Castiel helps put the bottle of lube in Dean’s hand, chews his lip as Dean probes back into his body, shifting himself just enough so he can reach and stroke at Dean’s neglected cock. Fully hard, Dean is thicker than he is long, and Castiel’s not a size queen, but he’s definitely looking forward to the ache he knows he’ll be feeling for days. If he’s lucky, he’ll be here in the morning for Dean to massage it away for him. 

Together they manage to get themselves properly lubed and prepared. The head of Dean’s cock nudges against Castiel’s rim, Dean dragging it back and forth, an awful tease at it barely catches. Castiel huffs his displeasure and grips Dean’s biceps so tight the man is forced to still, dropping his head back as Castiel seats himself on his cock. Split in half, his ass hits Dean’s thighs, slipping and sliding from a mixture of lube and the water, but he has barely a second to adjust before Dean rocks his hips upwards. 

More water sloshes out of the hot tub. Neither of them care, their bodies starting to move in tandem, Castiel’s chest heaving with pleasure, vision clouding, Dean cursing and praising all in one breath. Castiel bounces on Dean’s lap as best as he can, but it’s slippery and Dean keeps floating off of his seat and landing awkwardly; grunting with impatience, Castiel stands up, Dean whimpering when his cock slips free of his ass. Turning around, Castiel kneels on the other side of the tub on the submerged bench seat, resting his elbows on the ledge, throwing a come hither look over his shoulder at Dean.

Scrabbling to comply, Dean gets up and pushes his cock back into Castiel’s channel. They sigh in unison when Dean rocks a few times, and then Castiel is pushing up on his hands, pushing his hips back hard enough to upset Dean’s balance. 

“_Fuck_ me,” Castiel demands, throwing a heated glare over his shoulder. 

Dean sends him a wolfish, dangerous smirk. One hand clamps on Castiel’s hip, the other reaches up to plant his hand next to Castiel’s on the ledge, and when he thrusts forward next, Castiel might have fallen out of the hot tub if it weren’t for the way he’s caged in by Dean’s hands and arms. The pace Dean sets is brutal, and now that their lower halves are out of the water, Castiel can feel every slide of that glorious cock into his tight hole, can feel the way his heavy, fat balls slap against his cheeks. Dean’s hand moves from the ledge to the back of Castiel’s head, wrestling him down - Castiel resists just for a moment, for show, to get the adrenaline going, and then submits willfully, the side of his face smushed almost painfully against the ledge of the hot tub. 

Unleashing this part of Dean is beautiful. He’s not like any of the other men that have topped Castiel; brutish, bear-men with lots of body hair, veins, complete with belching contests and arm-wrestling matches. Castiel had specifically chosen men like that because he knew they could get aggressive in the bedroom, and when he bottoms, that’s precisely what he wants. 

Dean, however.

_Dean_.

“Dean,” Castiel pants, his jaw slack, barely able to form the word. Dean moves his hand from Castiel’s hip to slap his ass, the water assisting to make the sting extra sharp. Castiel moans wantonly in reply. 

Dean is perfect. Probably a switch, and a perfect blend of masculine and… well, less “traditionally” masculine. He’s everything Castiel didn’t know he wanted in a partner; able to bend, but willing to break. Follows directions easily. Trusts Castiel to tell him when to stop. 

Dean’s name falls off of Castiel’s lips like a mantra. His cock, neglected, bobs and splashes in the water, the tickle of the foam sending pleasurable tingles over his swollen balls. Dean continues to rail into him. It’s the best fuck Castiel has had in years.

“Touch…” Castiel pants out, feeling like he’s trying to talk through cotton. “Touch me… Dean…--”

Still keeping Castiel pinned, Dean moves a hand to start stripping his cock from base to tip. It’s ruthless, rough, no finesse, but it’s _friction_ and it’s Dean’s fingers gripping and squeezing, and Castiel lets out a low groan before his body tenses and the pleasure crests, his release spilling over Dean’s fingers and dribbling down into the foam of the hot tub. Dean slams into him a few more times, and now that his impending orgasm isn’t causing a roar in his ears, Castiel can hear the words Dean is breathing out.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Dean moans, his voice wrecked. “So perfect. Beautiful. Cas-” He grinds his hips in, slow and dirty, Castiel moaning with oversensitivity as he feels the girth of Dean’s dick pressing against every millimeter of his insides. “Gonna cum in you baby, gonna fill you up so good…”

Castiel dips his back, arching his spine downwards, pushing his ass up. Dean sucks in an inhale, and Castiel can only imagine the visual he’s giving. Head still on the ledge even without Dean’s hand to hold it there, Castiel sends Dean a heated look over his shoulder. 

“Pump me full.” 

Dean, lower lip caught between his teeth, rolls his eyes back in his head and groans low, slamming into Castiel twice, thrice more, before draping himself over his back, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s torso as his dick throbs and pulses inside Castiel’s body. It feels endless, the pour, and when Dean finally gathers his breath and pulls back, dick sliding free, Castiel groans in supplication when the other man’s fingers start pushing his cum back into Castiel’s quivering hole.

“Look at that,” Dean murmurs reverently, his free hand sliding over the curves and planes of Castiel’s back. 

Starting to cramp from the position, Castiel shifts and turns slightly, watching disappointment flicker over Dean’s features as his fingers work free from Castiel’s sopping hole. Chuckling, Castiel stands proper and reaches up to cup Dean’s features, drawing him in for a kiss. “Next time we’ll take a photo.”

“Next time?” Dean asks, more dazed from the sweet kiss than his dick being deep in Castiel’s ass.

“Mmhmm,” Castiel hums, suckling at Dean’s lower lip, counting Dean’s lashes as they flutter. “Next time it will be my cum stuffing your hole.” 

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin, his arms sliding around Castiel’s waist, their naked, wet bodies sealed together from chest to thigh. He nips at Castiel’s wondering tongue, “Perfect.”

They sink down into the bubbling water, tucked in to each other, exchanging kisses and touches, Castiel feeling a fullness and contentment he hasn’t felt for quite some time.

“Hey,” Dean says ten minutes later. They’re reclined in one of the sloping seats of the hot tub, Castiel curled up on Dean’s chest as they look up at the stars.

“Hm?”

“What are you gonna do next time your car gets Twilight Zone’d? Today was the last day of the Rainbow car wash.”

Castiel laughs, surprising both of them, before he shrugs and settles. “Go to a regular car wash I suppose.”

“Mm,” Dean’s fingers drum an idle rhythm over Castiel’s shoulder. “Or… not sure if you noticed, but I’ve got a pretty big driveway.”

“I did notice,” Castiel replies, lips curving. 

“Alright. Just making sure you noticed,” Dean says, the smile in his voice making Castiel’s heart skip three beats. 

“I think next time, however,” Castiel tries for casual, “I’ll wash the car, and you can watch.”

Dean squeezes his frame warmly. “Fuck yeah.”

\--

Needless to say, Castiel’s car continues to get, as Dean phrased it, “Twilight Zone’d”. 

Needless to say, between the two of them, the car doesn’t get as clean as it could.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for your support.


End file.
